


Ain't Nobody Gonna Love Me (Like the Devil Do)

by BabyDollDevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biker AU, Bloodplay, M/M, Violence, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyDollDevil/pseuds/BabyDollDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has left Sam to his apple-pie life for four years, but now their dad is missing and their MC is getting anxious. Biker AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Nobody Gonna Love Me (Like the Devil Do)

Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester  
Biker AU based on [this](http://pennyshipswincest.tumblr.com/post/48996535568/all-i-want-is-a-45-000-word-fic-where-dean-and) prompt.

\--------------

There's a faded Brink's alarm sticker gently peeling from the bottom corner of the apartment's front window. A doorknob lock and a deadbolt that could both be easily opened if someone capable enough thought to even try. There's a walkway leading up to each apartment building, white picket fences on either side of the slate grey concrete and fucking flower boxes in almost every other window. There's perfectly trimmed hedges leaning against the side of every ugly light-pink brick wall and sprinklers that turn on everyday at 5 a.m.

Dean hates the place.

Forget picking the locks, he wants to kick the door down, shatter and splinter it into a million bright blue pieces until there's nothing left. It's a shitty apartment anyway. A shitty apartment with shitty locks and a dingy home alarm sticker that means nothing because Dean knows that Sam is too prideful to get or keep an alarm system anyway, even if he needed it.

Dean decides to not put Mayberry or whatever this dumb fuck town is called in a state of fear and frenzy. He already received stares out of thick curtained windows as he passed by houses, kids peering out, rubbing their sleep crusted wide eyes like they've never seen a motorcycle before. Women with shaking fingers gripping the fabric, following him with their fearful gaze as if black leather was a sin. Men shooing both back to bed as if just looking at Dean would condemn them to hell somehow.

Maybe they're right.

Dean parked his bike a block away so Sam wouldn't hear him coming, walked on the grass all the way to the apartment because the flat precision of it pissed him off.

Both locks click back easily like he knew that would. The door eases open without so much as a squeak, shuts itself quietly back in place. The floor doesn't even groan as Dean walks across it, and what's the fun in that? Sam won't even know to come out for him.

That may be a good thing, though. Dean doesn't want to end up dead in Apple Pie, USA, his face plastered all over the local news as the victim of the first murder in probably ever. His Sammy always had a gun handy and a couple of happy trigger fingers, sharpshooter aim and a who gives a fuck attitude. His Sammy would've shot anybody point blank in the head for even thinking about coming into his house uninvited. What Dean gets isn't his Sammy.

What Dean gets is fists instead of steel. Flesh against flesh, knuckles against his jaw. Dean strikes back and connects, Sam kicks and misses. Sam is four years out of practice and Dean brings him to the floor with little effort. This is easy, familiar.

Dean's hand wraps around his baby brother's throat, the other holding on to the hand that Sam uses to push him away. Dean's knees press against Sam's spread thighs, digging into the muscle there. His grip against Sam's throat tightens as he leans down, noses almost brushing. "Whoa," he purrs. "Easy, tiger."

"Dean?" Sam asks, panting. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"'Cause you're out of practice," Dean laughs, relaxing against Sam. The kid has more muscle than he remembers, strong tissue beneath soft skin, a thin layer of sweat covering that. Sam is wearing sweatpants and nothing else, topless and barefoot, his hair is sleep tousled, but his eyes are big, aware, still trying to take in everything.

Dean hasn't been this close to Sam in two years. Hasn't felt his brother's body against his own in too damn long. He feels good, real good. He leans his hips down and presses in close between Sam's spread thighs like they haven't missed a day. Their fucking has always been as familiar as their fighting, and just as violent.

Sam rolls them over so he's on top, straddles Dean, and presses his palms against his big brother's shoulders. He starts where Dean left off, rubbing his half hard dick against Dean's. Sam leans down, rests his forehead against his brother's as he continues to rock his hips.

"I shoulda shot your ass," he whispers, breathless.

Dean grabs Sam's hips and pushes up. "Why didn't you?"

Before he could answer, the light flips on, briefly blinding them both. They stop and look over Sam's shoulder, where a girl stands, stunned, fingers motionless on the switch.

"Sam?" she questions and he rises slowly to meet her. There's no way she can miss the way his sweatpants are tented in the front, the pink blush of his cheeks, the quick rise and fall of his chest. Sammy just saunters over to her, shameless as always, and throws an arm around her shoulders.

"Jess," he says, turning to nose at the girl's hair. "Hey," he tells her softly, then turns back to his brother. "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

Sam is pressed up against the girl's side, hard dick on her hip, and any other time, Dean would be getting lucky. Both her and his brother half naked, skin against skin, Sam watching Dean like he always has, fearless and hungry, almond eyes taking in everything he's missed in the last two years.

Any other time, the girl would be looking just the same, eyeing Dean while rubbing against Sam, purring like the luckiest person in the world. But Jess doesn't. And Dean doesn't want her to.

"Wait, your brother, Dean?" she asks skeptical. Dean gives her a glare that makes her shrink back behind Sam.

Dean saunters over to them, dick still hard for Sam behind dark denim, and rests a gentle palm against Jessica's shoulder. "Yeah, his brother," he says, leaning in close, pushing up against both her and Sam. Her eyelids flutter and she breathes in deep.

Yeah, she'd let them both fuck her if Dean wanted it.

But that's not what he wants. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend, here, talk about some family business." He licks his bottom lip before biting it. "But, uh, nice meetin' you."

Sam stays put, the stubborn little fuck, pulls Jess tighter against himself and Dean has to picture cute shit like baby ducks just so he doesn't stick a blade into the girl's stomach.

"No," Sam tells him, a little more serious like he knows what Dean is thinking. "What you want to say, you can say it in front of her."

Dean scoffs and crosses his arms in front of his chest, the leather covering his arms creaking with the motion. "Okay." He doesn't spare Jessica a second glance, eyes only for his brother. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"What?" Sam asks slowly, brows furrowed and mouth twist in an indignant little frown.

"Dad's on a run," Dean explains more thoroughly, "and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam lets go of Jessica, brings his hands up too fast for Dean to counter and shoves him away. Dean stumbles back, corrects himself, but Sam already has his jacket fisted in his hands. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days?" Sam growls. He gives Dean a shake and moves forward, his nose bumping into Dean's. "You came here because of Dad?"

Dean grabs on to Sam's wrists and tries to pry his hands off of his jacket, but he doesn't budge. "Yeah, Sam. What the fuck?" Dean yells back.

Sam shoves him away again, grips his own hair between his fingers and turns in a circle. He's restless now, anxious, full of pent up energy and nowhere to put it. Dean wants to reach out, grab his brother, put his hands on him, his lips.

"You came here because of Dad," Sam repeats, but this time it's not a question. It's an accusation, and Dean feels the words hit him like a punch to the gut. "You were supposed to come back because of me, Dean. You were supposed to come with me!"

Sam's hands ball into fists at his sides like he's thinking about hitting Dean again. He paces a few strides back and forth in the little room and puts his fist through the wall. Jessica yelps, her presence once again known and brings up her hands to cover her mouth. "Sam --" she starts, but doesn't know what to say. Confused because she doesn't know any better.

"Get your ass outside, Sam," Dean commands and Sam obliges, walking out of the room and into another, throwing open the front door and stomping outside. He leads Dean down the stairs and to the side of the building, stepping over the stupid little white fences that separate the sidewalk from the grass.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean says once they stopped. "I'm sorry this fucking reunion didn't go the way you wanted it to, but you're the one who left. You left for this normal, apple pie life."

Sam leans against the side of the building, bare skin against the coarse brick. "Not normal," he explains. "Safe."

Dean scoffs, but nods his head "And that's why you ran away?"

"I ran away because you had one too many bullet holes in your goddamn lung!" Sam tells him, pushing off the wall. He invades Dean's space, puts a finger in the middle of his brother's chest to emphasize his point. "I ran away because I thought you'd come with me, so fuck you, Dean!"

Dean knocks Sam's hand away and shoves him back, pressing him against the wall. "Yeah, Sam, you wanna fuck me?" he asks, voice dropping low and rough, the way Sam always liked. He leans in close, mouth hovering over his brother's, letting their lips brush as he speaks. "You tired of apple pie pussy?"

Sam turns his face away, but doesn't move. Dean just nuzzles into the side of his neck. "Don't talk about her like that," Sam tells him.

Dean grabs onto Sam's hips, presses himself against Sammy even more. "I shoulda slit her throat," he whispers in his brother's ear, voice deep and calm. "I shoulda cut her open just for touching you without my permission."

Sam gasps and rolls his hips into Dean's. He's getting hard again, and Dean can feel him though the thin sweatpants. "Dean --" Sam groans, letting his head fall back against the brick.

"Yeah, old habits die hard, don't they baby boy?"

Dean wants to take him there, turn him around and shove his face against the wall, slide into him and make him come while little Jessica waits for them inside. He wants Sam's nipples scraping against the coarse concrete, his ass thrusting back against Dean so his dick doesn't brush the brick too. He wants to make Sam sorry he ever left. He wants to hear him beg for his big brother's forgiveness.

"I can't do this alone," Dean says instead, placing a kiss to Sam's Adam's apple. Sam's skin feels cold, goosebumps patterning on his skin. Dean wants to rub his fingertips against every one. He wants to read Sam's body like Braille.

Sam sniffs and looks back down at Dean. "Yeah, you can."

"Well, I don't want to," Dean tells him, fingers biting against the flesh of Sam's hips. He knows Sam won't say no. Dean would never deny his brother anything and he knows Sam is the same way. He's just never asked the kid for anything.

"Go back inside," Dean says, "tell your girl bye, pack some shit, and let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Please feed the writer!! Comments and critiques are always welcome.


End file.
